


if you belong to anyone, then you belong to me

by coffeeandchemicals



Series: but I have no other place to keep you safe [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Abuse, Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Character Study, Dubious Consent, First Time, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Neil Hargrove's A+ Parenting, No Shadow Monster | Mind Flayer, Oral Sex, Period-Typical Homophobia, Possessive Behavior, Possessive!Steve Harrington, Rough Oral Sex, Steve Harrington is not a good person, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:21:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25496749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeandchemicals/pseuds/coffeeandchemicals
Summary: Steve decided it was Billy’s fault. He’d pushed into Steve’s space – his animal magnetism making it almost impossible for Steve to look away.Everywhere Steve went, Billy was there, his tongue out, licking across his top lip, like everything was fucking foreplay for him. Like Billy was trying to entice Steve in, to make him comfortable, and then leave him, just like everyone else had left him. But Billy kept crowding in, he kept telling Steve things with his eyes, his body, his fucking mouth. He was taunting Steve – “You know you want this.” Then, in the showers, he’d called Steve, “pretty boy” while his eyes were half-lidded, water running down his chest – and all Steve could hear was, “Come on, I want you to.”And Steve wondered if, maybe, Billy could be the one to unlock something in him, could be the one to open something up, even something as base as lust.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Series: but I have no other place to keep you safe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1863352
Comments: 24
Kudos: 172





	if you belong to anyone, then you belong to me

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone…
> 
> I have no idea where this came from. I was listening [Artificial Light](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BO_ZmDETR98) by Typhoon and the line that is the title of this fic just got stuck in my head. And then this _version_ of Steve appeared in my brain. So… I decided to write him.
> 
> I wasn’t sure if I was going to post this because I’ve never written anything explicit before. And then I was debating posting anonymously and then [red_plaid_on_red_plaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_plaid_on_red_plaid) said to just post it, so here you all go - I really hope some of you like it!
> 
> Please mind the tags! If I’ve missed something, please let me know.
> 
> This is totally unbeta’d – all mistakes are my own.

Steve didn’t know how it had happened. He didn’t know _when_ it had happened. But it had happened and the sooner he accepted it, the sooner he could do something about it. He didn’t know what that something was, but he needed to do something – _anything_. 

Steve decided it was his parents’ fault. They’d left him. They came back, but Steve never knew when they’d be back – they dangled their return in front of him like a carrot in front of a horse. Every time they left Steve wondered if this was it – if this was the time they wouldn’t return. He existed in a constant state of anxiety and paranoia, on edge to every sound that came from his house – was it them? Were they back? – until he had actual proof they’d returned. Steve got good at pushing this paranoia down. He got good at compartmentalizing this anxiety into the deepest parts of his brain. Steve became so good at this that he became numb – he only played at being human – he faked his emotions. He practiced in the mirror – could he mimic happiness? Yes, good. Could he mimic rage? Yes, good. Could he mimic sadness? Yes, good. He could mimic all these emotions, but he didn’t actually feel them. This was good.

There was something wrong with him.

Steve decided it was Nancy’s fault. She’d left him. Steve had loved her – at least he thought he had, but the emotion was buried so far down that he only felt its ghost dragging its fingertips on the back of his neck – and she’d left him anyway. He’d changed himself for her – become a better person and all that shit for her – maybe, Steve didn’t know if it had been an act or if he’d actually changed. Hell, he’d fought fucking monsters for her. He thought, given enough time, that maybe he could actually feel what he was supposed to feel for her. But she’d left him before he could test that theory. 

There was something wrong with him. 

Steve decided it was Tommy’s fault. He’d left him. Tommy had seen Steve changing into someone else – someone better – and he had stuck his fingers into Steve’s partially healed wounds and tried to rip them open. Tommy hadn’t wanted Steve to change because he didn’t want to be left behind. Tommy hadn’t wanted Steve to leave him, so he left Steve first. Steve hated Tommy for that. Or he would have if he could have felt something.

There was something wrong with him.

Steve decided it was Robin’s fault. She’d told him she’d wanted Tammy Thompson. Robin told him that she’d spent History class just hoping that Tammy would _look_ at her. Steve didn’t know if he’d felt such longing like that for anyone – not even Nancy. He hadn’t really known it had existed until he talked to Robin. 

There was something wrong with him.

Steve decided it was Billy’s fault. He’d pushed into Steve’s space – his animal magnetism making it almost impossible for Steve to look away. Everywhere Steve went, Billy was there, his tongue out, licking across his top lip, like everything was fucking foreplay for him. Like Billy was trying to entice Steve in, to make him comfortable, and then leave him, just like everyone else had left him. But Billy kept crowding in, he kept telling Steve things with his eyes, his body, his fucking mouth. He was taunting Steve – “ _You know you want this_.” Then, in the showers, he’d called Steve, “pretty boy” while his eyes were half-lidded, water running down his chest – and all Steve could hear was, “ _Come on, I want you to_.” And Steve wondered if, maybe, Billy could be the one to unlock something in him, could be the one to open something up, even something as base as lust. 

There was something wrong with him. 

Steve knew, on some level, that Billy wasn’t actually saying these things to him, that Billy was just being a teenage boy acting like all other teenage boys – except Steve – who wanted to be the king so they could ride that high. But Steve like to lie to himself – he lied to everyone else, so why not himself? He was especially good at lying to himself at night, in the dark, when these thoughts and images came unbidden.

Steve was numb to emotions, yes, but he was not numb to physical arousal, and, he learned, lust was just below the surface, waiting to come out and play.

* * *

Steve fantasized. He reached down to stroke his half-hard dick and slowly ran his hand from the base to the tip. He pictured Billy in the showers – his eyes half-lidded, and a smirk spreading across his face. Billy would run the tip of his tongue along his top lip – like he’d done _so many_ times before – and he’d whisper, “Come on, pretty boy, show me what you got,” because everything was some sort of competition to him. Steve would put his hand on Billy’s shoulder, thumb resting in the hollow of Billy’s throat, and he’d squeeze – because Steve was winning this game. He’d force Billy to his knees, and put his other hand on Billy’s face – oh so gentle at first, because he wanted to keep Billy on edge – the way Billy had been keeping him on edge for days – then he’d bring his other hand up, cupping Billy’s face, and force his head back and mouth open. 

“You want me to show you?” Steve would hiss – he’d bare his teeth because he has the power here – and he’d wait. Billy would nod, his eyes dilating with lust and chest flushing. Then Steve would bring the head of his cock to Billy’s mouth, let it rest on his lips, enjoy that picture, and then push it in. Billy’s mouth would feel warm, wet, slippery, and so fucking good – Billy’s tongue would slide down Steve’s dick, Billy’s lips would be red and stretched, Billy would be so fucking pliant, just wanting what Steve would give him. Steve would slowly fuck Billy’s mouth, holding him place, pushing his cock deeper and deeper until Billy was gagging on it. Steve’s eyes wouldn’t leave Billy’s face – he’d watch the tears roll down Billy’s cheeks, he’d watch Billy palm himself, trying to get some release of his own.

“No,” Steve would snap, “you don’t get to touch yourself. You’re just here for me. I decide when you come – if you get to come at all.” Billy would make a sound of disagreement, but he would stop, because Steve’s in control here. Steve would continue to fuck Billy’s mouth and then he’d come down Billy’s throat. He wouldn’t pull out until Billy had swallowed it all. 

Steve shuddered as he jerked himself off to this fantasy, using the precum to make the glide easier. He thought of Billy’s face, he thought of Billy begging him to let him come, he thought of Billy on his knees for him, and then he came all over his hand and stomach. Steve came so hard that his world went white for a second. Billy had managed to get under Steve’s skin and Steve wanted to keep him there. 

Steve wondered if this _attraction_ he felt towards Billy would fizzle out the longer he knew him – constant exposure deadening this feeling of lust until Steve was numb again. 

There was something wrong with him.

Then that night happened – when Billy had beat him up so bad that Steve had a concussion, two black eyes, and a fractured rib from where Billy had kicked him. 

Steve no longer felt numb, he just felt pain. 

That night, Billy was hitting him, catching Steve off guard, forcing him to the ground, kicking him in the ribs – like Billy thought Steve was _nothing_. Steve had felt something work its way out of his gut, felt something other than the numbness he had grown accustomed to – fucking rage. Steve had stormed in and thrown his own punches, but something had happened – he’d hit Billy and then Billy had yelled, “I've been waiting to meet this ‘King Steve’, everybody's talking so much about!” And Steve wondered if Billy had been thinking as much about him as Steve had about Billy. He hadn’t got a chance to think about this further, because Billy was on him, fists flailing. And Steve–

There was something wrong with him.

–well, Steve had _liked_ the feeling of Billy on him. He’d liked the weight of Billy, the solid muscles of Billy’s thighs squeezing his hips. He had not liked that Billy was hitting him, that fucking hurt, but, maybe, Steve liked _not_ being in control. 

Then Steve had blacked out.

He woke up thinking of Billy.

There was something wrong with him. 

* * *

Steve decided it was his own fault. It was his own fault he’d started _feeling_ again. He’d fed them. He’d fed them on glimpses of Billy – Billy on the court, his tongue out, sweat glistening on his chest, thighs bunching when he did a layup – Billy in the parking lot, leaning against his Camaro, exhaling smoke in a cloud as he maintained eye contact with Steve – Billy as a lifeguard, those red shorts leaving nothing to the imagination, mouth playing with his whistle, Steve couldn’t look at him because he made Steve hard, ache for some kind of relief. Those glimpses were foreplay to Steve. It fed his lust, his want, his _need_. 

It was a trap.

He could no longer compartmentalize his emotions – they came rushing back in thunderous waves – anger, hate, fear, lust. All of them roiling just below the surface, seeping through the cracks in Steve’s façade, forcing their way through Steve’s clenched jaw, spilling out through Steve’s fists.

* * *

It was late, mid-July heat still making him feel sweaty in his car, even though the sun had set hours ago. Steve was driving around, trying to tire himself out, trying not to think of everything that was just below his skin. But it had happened, and he needed to deal with it. 

Steve saw a figure slowly ambling down the road, exuding a type of relaxedness that Steve couldn’t remember ever feeling. But, as he drove closer, Steve amended his observation – the figure wasn’t ambling, it was walking stiffly, gingerly, _painfully_. Then Steve’s headlights illuminated the golden curls that he was so familiar with. And he slammed on the brakes, put the car in park, and opened his door before the car had fully stopped.

Billy stopped and looked at him, his eyes wide with fear until he recognized Steve, then his face shifted, his eyes going half-lidded and mouth twisting into a smirk – his patented expression. “Pretty boy, didn’t expect to see you here.”

Steve slowly swept his eyes up Billy’s body, going from his feet – shod in ratty Converse – up his bare legs – thighs barely covered by those red shorts – to his chest – clothed in white wifebeater, with droplets of blood drying on it – to his face – one eye swollen and blood dribbling down from his nose and coating his teeth, which Billy had bared in a menacing grin, probably because he saw Steve’s eyes lingering.

“See something you like?” Billy snarled, after meeting Steve’s gaze.

Steve crossed his arms over his chest and tipped back on his heels, appraising, because, yes, he did see something he liked – something he wanted.

“Maybe,” he drawled. Then he uncrossed his arms and put his palm flat on Billy’s sternum. He could feel Billy’s heart racing, with fear or adrenaline, it didn’t matter, it was intoxicating. Steve stroked his thumb over Billy’s collarbone, feeling the heat of his skin and the slight dampness of the layer of sweat coating it.

Billy’s eyes widened. “Harrington, what are ya–” He stopped when Steve brought his other hand up to Billy’s face. Then Steve fisted Billy’s shirt and jerked him into his space. 

“You get in a fight, Billy?” he asked, softly, as he wiped the tips of his index and middle finger through the blood dripping from Billy’s nose. It gleamed bright red in the light from Steve’s headlights. Steve licked it. It tasted coppery. 

Billy jerked back, but lost his footing and landed on his ass in the dirt that edged the road. His face was shadowed by Steve, who crouched down in front of him, arms resting loosely on his knees. Steve was backlit by the headlights and Billy had to blink a few times to adjust to the brightness from his vantage point – sprawled on the ground.

“Well,” said Steve, “are you gonna answer? Did you get in a fight?”

“None of your business, Harrington,” Billy hissed. He didn’t move though. 

Steve wondered if the fall had hurt him, if it had exacerbated Billy’s injuries. He dropped his gaze to Billy’s knuckles and could see they were uninjured – Billy hadn’t fought back against whoever had done this. 

“Someone hurt you?” Steve asked, anger making his voice tight and low.

“None–”

“Billy,” snapped Steve. “Who. Did. This.”

“What are you gonna do about?” asked Billy, voice mocking, “King Steve gonna take care of me?”

Steve narrowed his eyes, because, yes, that was his plan. He nodded and stood back up. He made his way over to the trunk of his car and pulled out his bat with the nails. He dragged his thumb across one pointed tip, it drew blood – still sharp, good. All Steve could think about was taking a swing at whoever had hurt Billy – swinging and not stopping until that person was reduced to a bloody mess on the floor, until that person would never get up again, until that person would never hurt Billy again. Because Billy–

_was his_ , his animalistic hindbrain supplied. 

–was his, he agreed. He walked back over to Billy, the handle of the bat draped across his shoulders, face composed. He dropped down next to Billy and leaned over him. 

“Yes,” Steve said, quietly, “I’m gonna take care of you.” Then he stood up and jerked Billy up with him. Billy came up easily, confusion colouring his features. Steve had Billy by the tender skin of his under arm, but he didn’t let go once he’d gotten Billy standing. “So,” said Steve, squeezing slightly, relishing the slight wince of pain that crossed Billy’s face–

There was something wrong with him. 

–“You’re gonna tell me who did this to you. Now.” He slowly let go of Billy’s arm, but he didn’t miss Billy’s quick inhale or Billy’s pupils dilating or Billy’s slight lean towards him. 

Interesting. 

“No,” Billy breathed, “it’s not worth it.” Then he added, even softer, “I’m eighteen now – I don’t have to stay there. I’m gone in the fall, anyway.” Billy took a deep breath and Steve waited, his eyes not moving from Billy’s face. Billy couldn’t meet his gaze though, he looked down and a flush was spreading across his cheeks and down his throat. Steve realized that Billy was _ashamed_ – ashamed of what? What had been done to him? That he didn’t fight back? His reaction to Steve? – Steve didn’t know. So, he cautiously lowered the bat to the ground and propped the handle against his thigh. He reached up slowly, so slowly, so that Billy could see and move away if he wanted to – he didn’t – and rested his hand on the back of Billy’s neck. Billy just slumped and leaned in towards Steve. Steve shifted his stance, widened his legs, and slid his hand from the back of Billy’s neck down around his shoulder. He slowly pulled Billy in, allowing him to use Steve to hold him up. Billy buried his face in the crook of Steve’s neck and let his weight drop – Steve staggered back a bit, because Billy was heavy – all those muscles making him dense. 

“C’mere,” Steve said into Billy’s hair, as he pushed Billy off him and moved towards his car. Steve sat down, back against the side and spread his legs. He patted the ground between them, and Billy looked at it uncertainly – his eyes were wet. He swiped at them quickly. 

“Sit,” said Steve.

“I’m not a dog,” muttered Billy. But he sat between Steve’s open legs anyway. And never, in a million years, would Steve have thought he’d find himself with Billy Hargrove voluntarily between his legs. Steve wrapped both arms around Billy, linking them over his chest, and pulled Billy back so they were flush – Billy’s back against Steve’s chest. Steve bent his knees, to trap Billy so he couldn’t get away–

There was something wrong with him. 

–and stroked his thumbs up and down Billy’s sternum. He could feel Billy’s heartbeat slow and hear him take some deep breaths.

“He doesn’t do it often,” Billy muttered, voice quiet, speaking to the night. Steve didn’t react, just waited for him to continue – he could sit there forever, with Billy trapped between his thighs, body heat spilling into him – warming the numbness out of him.

“Not anymore,” Billy added, after few minutes. “Especially since November – he cracked three ribs and broke my cheekbone – when Max drove my car home.”

Steve remembered the bandages and had assumed he’d gotten in a few good hits – now he knew better.

“I guess it had been building up – saw me getting ready for a date or something – called me a ‘faggot’ and I mouthed back. Shouldn’t’ve done that. I can usually contain it, y’know?” Billy let out a sigh and swallowed. It was a wet sound – Steve wondered if he was swallowing down more tears. 

Steve splayed both hands out on Billy’s chest in what he hoped was a comforting gesture – it’d been so long since he’d had someone to comfort that he wasn’t sure how to do it – he ran the tips of his fingers over Billy’s chest, feeling the muscles of his pecs – that wasn’t for comfort it was just because Steve wanted to–

There was something wrong with him.

–and thought about what Billy had said. His dad – Steve assumed Billy was talking about his dad – had called him a “faggot” – was Billy actually one?

Steve took a brief second to think about his own sexuality and decided he didn’t care enough to categorize himself – he wanted to fuck Billy, to possess him. There was something wrong with him. 

He should be worried. 

He _really_ should be. 

He wasn’t. 

He didn’t care beyond the passing observation that, yes, there was indeed something wrong with the way Steve functioned as a human being – it was an act. But, it had got Billy between his legs, so he _almost_ was okay with it.

Billy was still staring out into the dark, into the forest. Steve decided to take a chance – because Billy was vulnerable and needing comfort and Steve, well, he could provide comfort – but that was only part of why Steve did this – mostly he just wanted to feel Billy’s skin under his lips and didn’t think Billy would put up a fight. Steve tightened his arms, tilted his head down, and pressed a soft kiss into the skin of Billy’s neck, just where it connected to his shoulder.

Billy shuddered and didn’t try to get away, as Steve had suspected he might. Instead, Billy tipped his head back and to the side, making it easier for Steve to reach the same spot.

He was glad that Billy couldn’t see his face, because he could feel the predatory grin spreading across it.

He placed another kiss to that spot and when Billy still didn’t move, he placed an open-mouthed kiss there and dragged his tongue over Billy’s skin. It tasted of salt and sunscreen – it tasted like all the other skin Steve had put his mouth on. He bit down gently, grazing his teeth over the hard muscle of Billy’s shoulder, and then harder when Billy moaned. Steve licked the bite and leaned his head back against his car. His dick was hard and aching in his jeans, just from kissing Billy’s neck. 

Steve was fucked – he had Billy between his legs, he had Billy under his mouth, he had Billy in his arms – he wanted more. 

Billy shifted a bit – Steve was sure Billy could feel his hardon, it was probably digging into his back – and leaned his head back to rest on Steve’s shoulder. It was a vulnerable position – Steve could easily get a hand around Billy’s throat – not that he would do that, or, if he did, he wouldn’t squeeze that hard – hard enough to show that Steve had the power here. 

They sat like that for a few minutes, Billy’s head resting on Steve’s shoulder, Steve’s head resting against the car. Steve broke the silence, by leaning down and whispering into Billy’s ear, “You want me to take care of you?” Then he licked the outside shell of Billy’s ear because he wanted to – he wanted to make Billy react. 

Billy let out a little sigh and nodded.

“Get up,” Steve said, as he unwrapped his arms from Billy’s torso and then gave him a little push in the middle of his back. Billy staggered a bit as he got to his feet – he was off-balance – it was Steve’s fault. 

“Get in the car,” Steve said, as he yanked open the driver side door and tossed the bat into the back seat. 

Billy didn’t argue, he got in and wrapped his arms around his knees – as if he was trying to make himself small. Steve didn’t like that. He turned the key, put the car into drive, and then reached out to put his hand on the back of Billy’s neck, as he sped off down the road. 

Billy had regained some of his swagger by the time they’d gotten to Steve’s. He hopped out of the car, mouth open, tongue out running over his top lip – Steve wondered if this was an unconscious gesture – and said, “So this is where the King lives? Nice castle, pretty boy.”

Steve didn’t say anything, just headed for the door. He looked over his shoulder to see if Billy was following. He wasn’t. Steve raised one eyebrow and jerked his head back in a “come here” gesture that he hoped Billy would see from the glow of the streetlights. Billy sauntered forward and Steve held the door open for him – he closed it and locked it after they both got inside – he didn’t want Billy to leave–

There was something wrong with him.

–without him knowing. Steve kicked off his shoes and Billy toed off his Converse, his feet were bare. Steve could see the bones and tendons flexing on the top of them – like Billy was preparing to run – but he didn’t, he just stood there. 

Steve walked to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of scotch from the liquor cabinet – his dad wouldn’t miss it and Steve honestly _did not_ care if he did. Billy followed, eyes darting around, taking in the décor of Steve’s castle – more like his fucking prison that the guards had abandoned years earlier. Steve poured himself a shot, sipped it, and handed Billy the bottle. Billy looked at the bottle like it would bite him. 

“Drink,” Steve said, then he added, “it’s good scotch.”

Billy shrugged and took a small sip – he made a face as the burn worked its way down his throat. He let out a little cough and said, “Think I’ll stick to beer.”

Steve mimicked Billy’s shrug and patted the counter next to the sink. “Sit,” he said, as he grabbed a clean dish towel. 

“I’m not a dog, Harrington. Said that already.”

“And yet, you obey like one,” Steve mused with an eyebrow raised, as Billy did hop on the counter to sit next to the sink. Steve wetted the cloth and scrubbed at the dried blood from around Billy’s mouth and under his nose. 

“Fuck. Harrington, that hurts,” Billy barked out, as he tried to jerk back from Steve’s not so gentle touch. 

Steve dropped a hand to Billy’s shoulder to stop him from moving away. “I need to see if these need stitches.”

“How would you know?” retorted Billy, but he held still under Steve’s ministrations. 

Steve didn’t answer, just smiled enigmatically. Billy visibly swallowed.

“Take this off,” said Steve, but his hands were already dropping to the hem of Billy’s wifebeater. His nails scraped slightly over Billy’s torso, as he dragged the shirt up. Billy got his arms up awkwardly and leaned forward so Steve could pull it over his head. 

Steve was going to kill Billy’s dad. 

Slowly. 

Over a few days. 

Billy’s ribs were covered in bruises, so purple-black that Steve knew they were still coming out. He pulled Billy forward by his neck so he could see the damage on Billy’s back – bruises were spreading over his kidneys – that was going to fucking hurt to piss – a ring of purple bruises blossomed on the back of Billy’s neck – his dad had clearly held him down hard – and cigarette burns graced the middle of Billy’s back. Steve counted twelve of them. Oh, yes, Billy’s dad was going to die, very soon. He gently pushed Billy upright and kept his hand on Billy’s upper arm.

“Your dad?” Steve forced out through a jaw clenched so tight he thought he was going to crack his teeth. 

Billy nodded, his eyes were downcast. “He surprised me – managed to get my arm behind my back.” Billy rotated his right arm and winced in pain. “I dunno why – maybe he was drunk. He forced me down – kneeled on me – I couldn’t move, y’know. I thought maybe if I stayed quiet and said ‘yessir’ and ‘no sir’ in the right spots, it wouldn’t be too bad. Bruises, I can handle. I’ve had enough of them to know, y’know, which are dangerous.” Billy took a deep breath and slumped forward. Steve moved to stand between Billy’s legs, he gently grasped both of his thighs – trying to be comforting, but not sure it came across. 

“It woulda been fine,” Billy whispered, “but he decided I’d been ‘running around with guys’.” His voice dropped in pitch when he said the last part, imitating his dad, Steve assumed. He rubbed his thumbs up and down the tender skin of Billy’s inner thighs. Steve wondered if Billy had been “running around with guys” and who they were. He felt a jealous rage building in his gut–

There was something wrong with him.

–he forced it down. He could deal with those other guys _later_.

“He burned me. Cigarette or something. I tried to be quiet, really, I did. But I started screaming.” Billy swallowed, and Steve could hear that he was trying not cry. “He got angry – said I should be able to take it like a man.” Billy paused and took a few gasping breaths and swallowed again. “He let go of my arm and I thought maybe he’d had enough – tired himself out or something. But he started kicking me – I think he mighta kept going – killed me – if Susan hadn’t walked in then.” Billy let out a little snort. “Man, I’ve never heard her scream so loud, scared Neil so much that he actually jumped. It woulda been funny, y’know…”

“If he hadn’t been trying to beat you to death,” finished Steve, then he added, “don’t move.” Steve left to get the first-aid kit from his bathroom, all the while trying to list the reasons why he shouldn’t get back into his car and kill this Neil. Neil deserved it. Steve would be happy to deliver it. But he decided he needed to take care of Billy first – vengeance could wait. Maybe. For a few days. 

When Steve came back, first-aid kit tucked under one arm, he could see that Billy hadn’t moved. He was sitting with his forearms resting on his knees and swinging his bare feet like he was an impatient little kid.

“Hold still,” commanded Steve, and he ran his fingers up the bruises on Billy’s ribs, trying to feel for any lumps indicating they were broken and out of place. Billy sucked in a sharp breath and tried to jerk away. “Billy, I need to see if these are broken. Sit still.” Then Steve added as an afterthought – because someone once told him you caught more flies with honey than vinegar – “Please.” Billy stopped trying to move but his breathing quickened indicating that Steve’s touch was hurting him. 

“Okay,” said Steve, satisfied that the ribs were not broken – or if they were, they were just fractured and not going to pierce Billy’s lungs. “Come here, I gotta clean those.” Steve pulled out a chair from the kitchen table, turned it around, and got Billy to sit on it, his arms crossed over the chair’s back. As gently as he could, Steve washed the burns, poured antiseptic on them, and applied gauze. He ran his palms over Billy’s shoulders and upper back in a soothing gesture – he could see small wounds in various stages of healing and fully healed silvery-white scars. Steve catalogued these in the back of his brain – to fuel his rage for later use against _Neil_. 

Billy relaxed under Steve’s touch, his forehead falling forward onto his arms. Steve crouched down, dragging his hands lightly over Billy’s injured sides. He slowly moved them around to Billy’s front and cupped Billy’s dick – it jumped under Steve’s touch.

“You still want me to take care of you?” Steve asked, voice low, edged with a growl that he could feel in the back of his throat.

“That wasn’t you takin’ care of me?” countered Billy, voice slightly slurred, turning to look back at Steve, his eyebrow raised, a slight smile danced across his lips. 

“Baby” – the term slipped out automatically – “you have no idea…” Because Billy didn’t – he’d gotten under Steve’s skin, burrowed in deep, taken root, and Steve was going to do whatever it took to keep him there.

Billy’s head slipped back, and he let out a low groan, his dick hardening further under Steve’s continued touch. “Feels good,” he mumbled, mouth barely opening to let out the words. 

“Mhmm,” Steve agreed, as he moved his hands onto Billy’s thighs, fingers digging slightly in to the hard muscles. “C’mon.” He stood and pulled Billy up with him. 

They made their way to Steve’s room, fingers interlinked, feet moving slowly. Billy looked dazed, eyes half-lidded, pupils blown, his hardon visible through the red trunks. Steve’s own pressed uncomfortably against the seam of his jeans. Once they’d got into Steve’s bedroom, Steve stripped off his shirt and undid the button and fly of his jeans to give himself some relief. Billy stood in the doorway and looked around, taking in the plaid walls and the bed.

“C’mere,” said Steve. Billy took a few steps and stopped in front of him. Steve dropped to his knees and pulled at the waist of Billy’s shorts. He maneuvered the elastic over Billy’s fully hard dick and slid the shorts down his legs until they pooled at his feet. Billy lifted one foot up and then the other as Steve pulled them off over his feet. Billy didn’t say anything, just looked down at Steve with half-lidded eyes and quickening breaths – Steve hoped they weren’t the same pained breaths from downstairs.

“You okay?” Steve asked, as he sat back on his heels, gaze moving up and down Billy’s body to check for further injuries.

Billy cleared his throat and said, in a slightly awed tone, “Just never expected to see King Steve at my feet.”

Steve smirked and rubbed his hands up the backs of Billy’s calves, appreciating the way the muscle bunched beneath the skin, when Billy tensed. Steve leaned forward and placed kissed above Billy’s right knee. He met Billy’s eyes as he slowly bit down in the same place, causing Billy to let out a small gasp and his eyes to flutter shut. Steve licked the spot and then sat back. 

This time, when Steve swept his eyes over Billy’s body, he let them linger on Billy’s dick. It was long and thick – not quite as big as Steve’s, something he noted with a passing thought and a tiny bit of pride, because it was still a competition – and curved slightly to the right – the left from Steve’s perspective. The head was flushed a deep pink, glistened with precum, and he could see the vein that ran down the underneath. He leaned forward and ran his tongue along that vein.

Billy groaned and shifted back onto his heels. 

Steve caught him by the backs of his thighs. “You don’t want me to?” he asked, eyes searching Billy’s face, hoping that he wouldn’t see rejection in it.

“I –,” Billy paused to inhale, then exhale, and then continued, “I just wasn’t expecting you to do that.”

Steve maintained eye contact, wetted his lips, and said, “Just relax. I’ll make it good.” 

Billy stared at Steve’s mouth as if he were transfixed. “Uh.” Then he shook his head, as if to clear it, “Yeah, okay, it’s just…” he trailed off and swallowed – Steve could see his throat work and wanted to lick it.

“Just…?” Steve coaxed, as he moved his hands up and down the backs of Billy’s legs in long strokes, each time getting closer to cupping Billy’s ass.

“Can I sit?” Billy blurted out, face flushing, “the adrenaline, y’know, it’s wearing off.” 

Steve had briefly forgotten about Billy’s injuries and realized that the fantasies of pushing Billy against a wall to suck him off would have to wait for another time. Something else Neil was going to have to pay for.

“Mhmm, make yourself comfortable,” Steve said, as he let go of Billy’s legs. Billy stumbled a bit and sat down on the edge of the bed. He spread his legs and winced as he leaned back, hands braced behind him to support his weight. 

“You good?” Steve asked, as he settled between Billy’s thighs. 

Billy nodded.

Steve swept his hands along the soft skin of Billy’s inner thighs, feeling the hairs catch slightly on the callouses on his palms. He braced himself on the crease where Billy’s leg joined with his hip and leaned forward to take Billy’s cock in his mouth. It was hot and heavy and hard and tasted of salt and skin and sweat. Steve moved his tongue up to touch the frenulum. Billy jerked and Steve shifted his hands up and then tightened his grip on Billy’s hips to hold him in place. Steve had never done this before – but he thought of what he liked – and swirled his tongue along the underside of the head and hollowed his cheeks. Billy groaned again. Steve looked up and saw that Billy’s head had fallen back and his lips had parted. Steve took more of Billy’s cock into his mouth, trying to loosen his jaw and relax his throat. He moved his head up and down, developing a rhythm. Billy’s hips jerked again, and his hands fisted the edge of the mattress, as if to stop himself from moving forward. Stroking his thumbs up and down Billy’s hips, Steve took him deeper into his mouth. 

Billy moaned and gasped out, “Feels good.” Steve looked up and met Billy’s gaze – he had his bottom lip pinched between his teeth, like he was trying to keep quiet. Steve didn’t like that–

There was something wrong with him.

–he wanted everyone to hear them. He wanted everyone to know that Billy was _his_.

He grabbed the base of Billy’s cock with his right hand and slid his left hand up Billy’s torso – feeling the hard planes of Billy’s abs shiver under his touch – to pinch Billy’s nipple. He gave it a little twist and smirk internally when Billy loosed his lip as a whimper escaped. His hips jerked forward but met the resistance of Steve’s hand.

Steve slid Billy’s cock out of his mouth and slowly jerked him off. 

“Still good?” Steve whispered, voice hoarse. 

Billy nodded and mumbled a weak, “Uh-huh.” 

Steve pushed his thumb into the slit on the top of Billy’s dick and watched as precum leaked out. He stuck out his tongue to taste it – still salty – and then took the head back into his mouth. He took Billy as deep as he could and jerked the rest with his hand – mouth meeting hand in a quick rhythm. Billy jerked his hips forward and pushed his hands into Steve’s hair, gripping tightly, but not tugging – Steve let him. Steve’s other hand went back to Billy’s hip. 

“I’m,” Billy gasped out, “getting close.” He exhaled and muttered, “So good, Steve.”

Steve liked the sound of his name on Billy’s lips. He liked how Billy sounded totally strung out because of what _Steve_ was doing to him. 

Steve pulled back and whispered, “You gonna come, baby?” His tone was playful, and he jerked Billy quickly.

Billy’s pupils drowned his irises as he looked down at Steve. “So close…” he moaned. And then he said, voice pleading, “Steve, please…”

Steve sucked Billy in again and tried to take him deeper than before. He increased the speed and heard Billy gasp, felt his hips buck, and then Billy’s come hit the back of his throat. Steve swallowed, not sure what else to do and not wanting to make a mess – it tasted salty, not great, but not terrible either. 

Steve sat back on his heels and watched Billy’s chest rising and falling from the exertion of coming. He wiped his hand across his mouth, stood, and stretched, feeling his knees protest from being bent for so long. 

“You good?” Steve asked, his stripped off his jeans, boxers, and socks, his own cock curved angry and red against his stomach.

“Mhmm,” Billy let out, as he leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. 

Steve wandered to his night table and pulled out a small bottle of lube and condom. “Lie down on your front?” he asked, just raising his tone at the end to make it sound like a question as opposed to a demand. 

Billy looked from Steve’s face to the bottle of lube in his hand, nodded, and swallowed. Then he twisted around and got himself lying on his stomach.

“You okay? Your bruises…” Steve asked, as he sat on the edge of the bed and looked up at Billy’s back.

“I’m good,” Billy said, voice muffled as he talked into the pillow. 

Steve nodded, realized Billy couldn’t see it, and grunted, “Good.” He straddled the backs of Billy’s thighs and ran his hands gently over the bruises that covered Billy’s kidneys. He moved them lower and cupped Billy’s ass, squeezing to feel the firmness of the muscles. Steve kneaded the cheeks, feeling the slight give beneath his fingers and heard Billy sigh with relaxation. Steve shuffled himself down, so he was almost sitting on the backs of Billy’s knees, and bent over to kiss one ass cheek and then the other. Billy shuddered and Steve bit the cheek that he had just kissed, giving it a light nip with his teeth. Billy gave a little buck in response to the pain. Steve then licked the bite to soothe it and popped open the bottle of lube.

“I’ve, uh, never actually done this before,” Steve confessed, as he ran his fingertips down the crease of Billy’s ass. 

“I’ll tell ya if you’re doin’ it wrong,” said Billy, looking at Steve over his shoulder.

Steve felt his stomach roil as he thought of someone else doing this to Billy. Someone else touching him _there_. Someone touching what was his–

There was something wrong with him.

–and wondered who he’d have to kill to make Billy his. 

Steve spread Billy’s cheeks and dripped some lube on the furled hole. In the dim light of the room, it blended in with the skin and hair around it. Steve then put some lube on his fingers and slowly ran the tip of his index finger around Billy’s hole. Billy let out a small moan and jerked his hips back, trying to get more contact. 

Steve let a smirk spread across his face as he took in the sight before him – Billy needy and wanting and responding only to Steve and what Steve gave him.

Steve circled his finger around the hole again and then slowly slid it in to the first knuckle. Billy was so hot and tight, and Steve’s dick jumped as he thought of how it would feel to get it inside of him. Steve pulled the finger back and then slid it in slightly further, feeling Billy spasm around him. 

“Baby,” he whispered, leaning forward to fully meet Billy’s gaze, “you feel so good.” And then he drove the finger all the way in. 

Billy, eyes glazed, let a breathy groan.

Steve slowly removed his finger and gathered more lube. He slid it back in, feeling how slick Billy was. Feeling how Billy was already loosening for him. Steve pulled his index finger out, lubed up his middle one, and slid the tips of the two fingers inside Billy. 

Billy let out a little grunt at the intrusion. Steve stopped and waited for him to adjust. He palmed Billy’s ass cheek and rubbed his thumb on Billy’s hip. Then he pushed his fingers in to the first knuckle, pulled them back out, gathered more lube, and pushed them back in.

Billy was panting and exhaled out a small, “Fuck,” that Steve almost missed. Steve crooked his fingers and brushed something – Billy’s whole body tightened, and he groaned, loudly – Steve assumed he’d touched Billy’s prostate. 

“You good, baby?” Steve asked, as he fucked Billy with his fingers, slowly getting them all way in.

“Fuck – Harrington – Steve, faster. Please. Right there, please,” Billy answered, sentence filled with gasps as Steve continued moving his fingers. 

Steve withdrew and Billy let out a plaintive whine. “So needy,” Steve whispered, as he shifted onto the bed to sit beside Billy’s ass. Billy was staring at him, eyes half-lidded, teeth once again biting his lip. Steve leaned up and kissed him – the angle was awkward because Billy was lying on his front looking at Steve over his right shoulder and that didn’t give Steve a lot of room to work with. Billy moaned into Steve’s mouth and Steve realized that this was the first time they’d kissed. 

Steve withdrew his fingers and rolled Billy onto his side. Then Steve kissed Billy again – an open-mouthed kiss that was tentative at first. Billy responded forcefully, surging up onto his elbow to get them closer. Steve opened his mouth further and licked his tongue across Billy’s bottom lip. Billy groaned in response and Steve pushed his tongue into Billy’s mouth. He could feel the wet slide of Billy’s tongue against his own. He could feel the smooth glide of Billy’s lips against his own. It was pure fucking bliss. Steve drew back slightly, caught Billy’s bottom lip in his teeth and gave it a little nip. Billy sighed and Steve pulled fully away.

Then Steve rubbed his hand down Billy’s leg and rolled him back onto his front. He slowly pushed the two fingers back into Billy’s hole, watching as the rim went puffy under his ministrations. Steve scissored his fingers back and forth, feeling Billy stretch out further. He pulled at Billy’s rim as he withdrew his fingers to get more lube and add a third one.

Billy moaned and his hips jerked again as Steve pushed through the slight resistance with the three fingers. He fucked Billy shallowly until he’d relaxed again. Then Steve slowly pushed his fingers all the way in and crooked them, hitting the spot he had earlier. Billy’s body tightened and quivered. 

“Steve, c’mon, please,” Billy begged, shifting so he could meet Steve’s eyes. And–

There was something wrong with him.

–Steve could get used to this – having Billy begging and writhing beneath him, pleading for his release, totally under Steve’s control.

“You ready, baby?” Steve asked, as he withdrew his fingers. He tore the condom wrapper open with his teeth and rolled it on to his aching dick one-handed. He slathered more lube on his dick and on Billy’s hole. 

“Please,” Billy pleaded, “Steve, fuck me. C’mon.”

“Well,” said Steve, as he pulled Billy up on to his hands and knees, “since you asked so nicely.” He spread Billy’s ass cheeks and lined himself up with Billy’s hole. Steve wasn’t sure he would fit, but he pushed his dick into Billy, feeling resistance as the head tried to get through the tight ring of muscle.

“Fuck,” Steve gasped out, “Billy, baby, you’re so tight.”

Billy whined and Steve finally got the head past that ring of muscle. Billy gasped in pain and tensed up. Steve could barely stop himself from pushing in all the way, it felt so good. Billy was so hot and tight; he had Steve’s cock in a vice. 

Steve reached around and ran his hand over Billy’s dick – it was soft – and Steve wondered if he’d actually hurt Billy.

“You okay?” he asked, as he leaned forward to see Billy’s face.

Billy turned and looked at him over his shoulder. “Yeah, fine,” he breathed out, “just gimme a sec.”

Steve continued to stroke Billy’s cock and felt it begin to respond, hardening a bit. 

“Okay, I’m good,” Billy said, as he dropped his head back down.

Steve brought his hands to Billy’s hips, and slowly pushed in until his balls were brushing Billy’s skin.

Steve had died. This was the only logical reason for the amount of pleasure he was feeling. 

“Billy,” he gasped out, “please, I gotta move, please.”

“Go slow, Steve,” Billy said, voice cracking. 

Steve slowly pulled back and fucked him shallowly at first, until he felt Billy loosen slightly and the movement became easier. He pushed all the way in, and Billy let out a gasp.

“Uh,” Billy moaned, “there, please…”

Steve withdrew and slid back in, trying to hit the same spot.

“Ye-ess,” Billy hissed. “Please, Steve, please.”

“Please what, baby?” Steve whispered, leaning forward, trying to avoid Billy’s burns under the gauze. 

“Please, faster,” Billy mumbled, “harder. Steve, please.”

Steve licked Billy’s shoulder and bit down. He pulled out and Billy let out a painful whine.

“Wha–” Billy tried to say.

Steve cut him off with, “Shift this way.” And he moved Billy around, so his knees were on the edge the bed and his shins and feet were hanging off it. Steve stood between Billy’s legs – the height of the bed was just right for Steve to fuck him standing. 

Billy looked at him over his shoulder and Steve responded with a wicked grin. 

“You ready, baby?” Steve asked, as he slid back in, not waiting for Billy to answer. 

Billy groaned and almost fell forward, but Steve had a firm hold on his hips. 

“I got you,” he said, pistoning his own hips, developing a rhythm. 

“Fuck, Steve,” Billy gasped out.

“There?” Steve asked, digging his fingers into Billy’s hips, hoping he’d leave his own bruises on him, something to cover up Neil’s marks. Anger surged in Steve as he thought of Neil and saw the damage he’d done – the marks and scars and burns all over Billy’s back. It made Steve move harder, faster – he wanted to fuck Billy, make him feel so good that all thoughts of Neil would be forced out of him.

Billy was letting out short gasps and moans and pants. Steve reached around and grasped Billy’s cock, it was fully hard, the tip weeping. 

“You like that?” Steve growled, “you like me fucking you? You like me touching you?”

“Yes,” Billy gasped out, “please, Steve, I’m so close, please.”

Steve jerked Billy off and fucked him. He could feel his balls drawing up and fought the urge to come. He couldn’t come first.

Billy let out a long moan and came all over Steve’s hand and on his quilt. Steve could feel Billy clench around him, and it sent him over the edge. His thrusts became erratic as he came – hard. Steve let out a guttural groan and almost collapsed on top of Billy. He stopped himself just in time, catching site of the bruises and bandages.

Billy fell forward, unable to hold himself up, and Steve slipped out of him. 

Billy let out a little laugh and said, “Fuck, I’ve messed up your bed real bad, pretty boy.” 

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” Steve responded as he tied off the condom, wrapped it in tissue, and threw it in the trash. Then he added, “Be right back,” as he went down the hall to the bathroom. 

Steve cleaned himself up and caught sight of his face in the mirror. He looked thoroughly fucked – his hair mussed, pupils blown, legs trembling slightly. He met his own eyes and let that predatory grin alight his face – Billy was in his bed, and, if it were up to Steve, he’d never let him out of it – lust and triumph and… something vaguely resembling happiness hit Steve low in his gut. He wetted another washcloth and checked his smile in the mirror to make sure it was toned down enough to look satisfied and not psychotic. 

Billy hadn’t moved from his faced-down position when Steve returned to the room.

“Billy, c’mon, gotta clean you up.” Steve grabbed his wrist and tugged him gently to get him to his feet. Billy complied, a blissed-out expression on his face – it mirrored one the own Steve had seen on his own face moments before. 

Steve dropped to his knees again and wiped the washcloth through the come that had stuck to Billy’s abs – from when he’d fallen into it on Steve’s bed. Steve pressed on Billy’s hip to turn him around, folded the washcloth over, and ran it through Billy’s crease to clean off the excess lube. 

“We really should shower,” Steve said, as he stood up and threw the washcloth into the clothes hamper. “But,” he added, “I don’t wanna get your burns wet.”

Billy hummed in acquiescence. Steve considered and then ripped the quilt off the bed – getting rid of the main source of the mess. He lay down and looked at Billy – he hadn’t moved from the spot where Steve had cleaned him up. 

“C’mere,” Steve whispered, and patted the spot next to him.

Billy jerked from his reverie and said, “Still not a dog.” But he gingerly sat down, wincing slightly – Steve relished this reaction – he wanted Billy to be reminded of him whenever he moved, to know that Steve had fucked him so good, he’d be feeling it for _days_. Billy stretched out on his side, facing away from Steve. Steve shifted closer to Billy, not quite touching his back. He gently placed his arm over Billy’s hip, splaying his hand on Billy’s abdomen. He felt the muscles twitch under his touch. 

“This okay, baby?” he whispered into Billy’s ear, “am I hurting you?”

“No,” Billy responded, “’s good.” His voiced was slow, laced with sleep. Steve assumed the adrenaline and endorphins were causing Billy to crash. Steve watched Billy, his head propped in his hand, as Billy’s breathing slowed and deepened. Steve saw and felt Billy’s body relax and it hit Steve–

_Billy felt safe with him._

–that Billy felt safe enough to _sleep_ next to him. He trusted that Steve wouldn’t hurt him–

_Billy needed to be protected._

–Steve could get used to this – he wanted to protect Billy, to keep him safe, to _care_ for him. To–

_love him_ , his consciousness supplied.

–love him, he agreed. Or, Steve supposed, love Billy as much as he was able. 

He dragged Billy closer, still mindful of his wounds, and slowly slid his other arm under Billy’s head. Steve pressed a small kiss to the back of Billy’s neck and let the steady, slow rhythm of Billy’s breathing lull him to sleep.

* * *

Steve woke up the next morning – Billy was still asleep, curled up on his side. The early morning sun streamed in through the window, making his hair golden. A stray thought struck Steve as he looked at Billy’s sleeping face – _you are my sunlight; you are my last breath of air_. Steve leaned over and whispered into his ear, “You belong to me.”

Billy rolled over, put his face into the base of Steve’s throat, and mumbled, voice muffled with half-wakefulness, “You gonna take care of me, pretty boy?”

Steve pressed a kiss on the top of Billy’s head. “Yes.” 

* * *

Maybe there was something _right_ with him. 

**Author's Note:**

> Steve’s thoughts and dialogue at the end are taken directly from [Artificial Light](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BO_ZmDETR98) by Typhoon. Such a good song!
> 
> Any comments or kudos are greatly appreciated. 
> 
> I'm on tumblr! You can find me @ [coffeeandchemicals](https://coffeeandchemicals.tumblr.com/). (Spoiler alert - I do not know how to tumblr at all.)
> 
> I've got a sequel in the works!


End file.
